in
front of them and sped onward, seeming to cleave the wall of darkness
and open the way through which they galloped. The three tall,
broad-shouldered, straight-backed figures sat their horses with
constant grace, galloping abreast, neck to neck and heel to heel,
without pause or slackened pace. The rhythmical, resounding hoof-beats
made exhilarating music for their ears, and now and again Ellhorn's
yell went calling across the empty darkness or the sound of Mead's or
Tuttle's gun cleft the air. On and on through the night they went,
their wiry ponies with ears closely laid and muscles strained in
willing compliance, the starry sky above and the long level of the
plain behind them.

At Muletown they stopped to water their horses at the brimming
pump-trough in the plaza and, as the thirsty creatures drank, Ellhorn
glanced at the swinging starry Dipper in the northern sky again and
said, "I reckon it's three o'clock, boys." Then on they went,
clattering down the long adobe street, flanked by dim houses, dark and
silent; and out into the rising edge of the plain, where it lifted
itself into the uplands. The black silence was unbroken now save as a
distant coyote filled the night with its yelping bark, or a low word
from one or another of the riders told of human presence. On and on
they galloped, neck to neck and heel to heel, without pause or
slackened pace. At last they swerved to the right and began mounting
the low, rolling foothills of the Fernandez mountains. The cold night
air, dry and sharp, stung their faces and cooled the sweating flanks
of their horses. The creatures' ears were bent forward, as if they
recognized their surroundings, and their springing muscles were still
strong and willing. Over the hills they galloped, the lance-like point
of the road cleaving the black wall in front and the hoof-beats
volleying into the silence and darkness behind them.

The gray walls of an adobe house took dim shape in the darkness, and
beyond it a mass of trees, their leaves rustling in the night wind,
told of running water. The three men halted and with lowered bridles
allowed their horses to drink.

"Is this old Juan Garcia's ranch?" Tuttle asked.

"Yes," Mead replied, "old Juan still lives here. And a very good old
fellow he is, too. He isn't any lazier than he has to be, considering
he's a Mexican. He keeps his ranch in pretty good order, and he raises
all the corn and _chili_ and wheat and _frijoles_ that he need